


Sea Change

by strangeallure



Category: CW Network RPF, Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen, Supernatural RPF, The Little Mermaid (1989), The Little Mermaid - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's a mischievous merman with a soft spot for landfolk. Jared lives in a seaside town. When Jensen is no longer content to watch life on land (and Jared) from afar, they finally meet. </p><p>This adaptation of The Little Mermaid is not a retelling. It's influenced, however, by the Hans Christian Andersen tale as well as by the Disney version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Change

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing scintilla10 did a wonderful beta job with this. She encouraged and cheered me on (pompoms and all), and greatly helped me with her insightful comments and thorough beta. She also came up with the title. Thank you! <3 & <3
> 
> First posted on LJ in March 2011.

Technically Jensen's half-sprite, see. And okay, that probably doesn't mean a lot to you or to most other readers. Even if it does (because you actually paid attention when that weird geography teacher of yours with the wild hair and the Celtic cross around his neck went off on a tangent one day – good for you), what you know is probably wrong. Don't worry, it's not your fault. Nor is it that of your teacher or the people who wrote the books and collections and fairy tales your parents read to you when you were little. The fact of the matter is: How can human beings possibly learn about sprites? Or merfolk? Or nixes? Or any other kind of magical water creature?

Unlike fish or whales or dolphins, the magical beings of the sea are much too smart to get caught or observed or to generally be found out.

 _Yes, even dolphins._ They make cute pets (and, if you cast the right spell, fabulous under-water equivalents of carriage horses), but their loftier capabilities and intelligence are a little overrated in the human world.

So whatever you've learned and think you know about sprites, half-sprites and merpeople and, by extension, Jensen, is probably wrong. Sorry.

Mostly, anyway.

What _is_ true, however, is that even for a merman with a sprite mother, Jensen's a pretty special starfish. He tries to keep most of it a secret from his family and other merfolk, though. Well, maybe they suspect, but he learned pretty quickly to not let on how different he really was. The only kind of trouble Jensen likes is the kind he causes on purpose.

Because while none of the sea creatures Jensen knows really have killing landfolk as their hobby – thanks for that rumor, Homer – they do like making mischief. Causing a wave or a whirl of water where there used to be only a quiet, undisturbed expanse of ocean. Maybe warning fish so tourists in those boats with the big glass bottoms don't get to see the "fascinating aquatic life" they were hoping (and paying) for. Or sometimes even directing so many fish and crabs into the nets of unskilled fishermen that it makes their boat topple over, drenching the whole crew. (Most water creatures Jensen knows would have to be damn certain to be dealing with newbies though, before they tried that, because sometimes, humans are more resourceful than you'd think, and you don't really want to risk them making the largest catch of their lives when really you wanted them to be taken down a notch. No. For skilled fishermen, high waves or deep undercurrents are best.)

The thing is that, outside of making mischief, Jensen has another hobby. He likes watching landfolk – or human beings, as they call themselves. Not just fishermen splashing around in the water, looking for a plank to hold on to, or sun-burnt tourists turning green with sea sickness when only minutes before they were raving about the beauty of the sea.

No, Jensen likes watching human families and, if he's completely honest, which he rarely ever is (notorious troublemaker, remember?), he likes watching couples even more.

So here's another thing you might not know about merpeople: they're as varied as the ocean, and they built a sea kingdom that cannot be seen by the human eye and yes, okay, they do live to be 300 years old – I'll give you that, Hans Christian Andersen – but they don't touch one another. Sure, sometimes when you're in a hurry to get somewhere and you try to pass between a school of fish and a coral reef, it does happen. You might brush up against your mother or be squished into your friend, but that's it. It's never intentional. It never takes longer than it absolutely has to. No hand or arm or mouth ever lingers.

When Jensen was too young to realize that he was different, that there were some things too alien to his race to even really think about, he once asked his grandmother why they didn't touch or embrace or kiss. She just clapped her hands together and laughed in that crystal clear way of hers that made glittering bubbles swirl from her mouth.

"Oh, Jensen," she had said, still laughing, "you ask strange questions." Shaking her head, but still smiling at him fondly, she continued, "Why would we want to do that? It serves no purpose. In fact," and the look she gave him had just a hint of a reprimand to it, "if you would pay a little more attention in class, you would know that it's dangerous."

The idea had shocked him. It always looked so ... comforting – nice – when he saw humans do it. And he had snuck up to the surface many times, watching landfolk on this one beach close to his father's palace.

He had this favorite spot right behind a group of rocks not far from the waterfront: it was close enough to hear what the people walking by were saying (especially when he cast a small spell on the wind to carry their voices to him) and also close enough to clearly see what they were doing. Especially for merfolk, who can see much farther distances than humans. So whenever some landfolk put their arms around each other's backs or someone stroked a hand over the other's cheek before moving in to press their lips together, Jensen could see it. And it made his heart contract like an agitated anemone.

"But why would it be dangerous, grandma?"

"Because every time someone touches you, they take away a tiny bit of your merdust." She looked at him solemnly. "And that's where our magic comes from."

He had nodded. He knew about merdust. (His teacher, Crustaceous Kripke, the grumpiest crab in all the sea, had his ways to make sure Jensen actually paid attention in class. At least some of the time. And okay, mostly when they were having lessons about landfolk.) So Jensen actually knew that merdust was what made them live longer than humans, what allowed them to weave spells and do magic, what enabled them to understand and speak the languages of all creatures.

What he hadn't know was that it could be taken away.

When his grandma had sent him out to play – not without another reminder to pay better attention in class from now on together with a new musical shell for his collection, Jensen had decided that he couldn't share his fascination with touching with anyone.

That is, until he met Jared. Well, meeting would be the wrong word, strictly speaking. Yet here Jensen is, sitting in the sand on a quiet night, a knife in his hand and staring at his beautiful tail, and he still hasn't spoken a word to Jared.

What happened was this: The older Jensen got, the more adventuresome he became in his quest to observe people and see how they treated each other, how they touched each other. So he started to leave his favorite spot behind the rocks and looked for other places: beaches and islands where people had built houses close to the sea, where they sat on their patios and had barbecues and went surfing and swimming and just lived and laughed and touched each other by the side of the ocean.

He didn't dare tell anyone, not even his best friend Danneel, but he was pretty sure that by the time he was a full-finned adult, there was no-one in his father's realm that knew more about landfolk than he did. He had listened so closely, watched and observed and cast the occasional spell that allowed him to make sense of some concepts that were completely foreign to him – like passports and microwaves and low-fat mochas – that sometimes he almost forgot that he had never even so much as talked to a human being.

One day, after hours of aimless swimming and drifting, he had found himself in the waters of a small, tranquil bay. The algae made the water shimmer in a beautiful blue-green and the sand seemed a little gray, but was finely grained. Even though the season was turning towards fall, the shrubs and trees growing all around still seemed lush, twigs and branches hanging low over the water.

There were no people when Jensen first arrived, only a couple of little wooden houses built close to the beach, their blinds drawn – no barbecue grills or lawn chairs or those tiny little plastic ponds for the little landfolk to play in on their verandas. Abandoned after the end of summer.

To this day, Jensen still doesn't know what made him stay at a deserted place like this, without people to observe, without conversations to overhear and touches to long for. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he was charmed by the quiet beauty of it.

Whatever it was, he had stayed. Had found a small rock spur not far from the shore, letting the warmth of it seep into his skin, enjoying the not-quite-there tickle of sunbeams on his face, splashing his tail leisurely in the cool water.

The only movements catching his eye were from the occasional bird landing and picking at some shell or piece of driftwood the waves had washed ashore; and after a while, a lone dog appeared, trodding in between the houses, alternately chasing its own tail and sniffing everything in its way. Jensen expected a human to follow soon after, jogging along the beach with a leash in hand, shouting for the dog, as Jensen had seen so many times. But no one came, and when Jensen looked more closely, he noticed that there was no collar around the dog's neck, no metal plate hanging from a band of leather to tell people its name and who it belonged to. It was probably what he had heard landfolk call a stray: a dog with no home and no-one to look for it.

It made Jensen a little sad, but not sad enough to leave, even when the dog disappeared behind the houses again, and the whole beach grew even quieter as the sun moved lower in the sky.

Suddenly, there was some movement and noise coming from the direction of the houses.

At first, Jensen thought it had been nothing. Maybe the dog again or some other animal. But then the back door to one of the houses – the one a little to the side, looking more battered by the salt water and sea winds than the others, paint peeling and wood seeming to rot by the minute – had opened, someone standing there.

Tall and broad, big enough to fill the whole door frame.

The guy had walked onto the veranda, his gaze slowly sweeping across what he saw, assessing. The quirk of his mouth as he seemed to survey the state of the house, the way his hands stroked over the wood to feel its state and texture, how his feet tested some of the planks that made up the deck. There were a lot of faults and flaws to be found: the house obviously hadn't been cared for in too long; its coat of paint was coming off in chips and patches; and the wood it was built of had absorbed too much water. Jensen had seen this type of damage many times, had seen repair crews working on houses in a similar state or deeming the damage not worth the trouble and knocking the whole place down. It undoubtedly needed hours and hours of work and care, but the man didn't seem worried about that. Instead, the concentration on his face slowly gave way to a small, but confident smile.

The guy slowly turned and on his way back into the house, he gave the panel next to the door a few almost fond pats, like he wanted to say that he saw not what it was today, but what it could be.

Jensen had to snort at that thought. He would never admit it out loud, but Danneel was right, he was sappy as a seahorse sometimes. No wonder he always choked up during the Royal Concerts his father held at the turn of every season. Or that he couldn't let go of his seashell collection – now hidden beneath a mossy rock in a sunken ship instead of proudly displayed in the glass case his mother had given him when he was ten – even though that kind of collection was something a young merman of sixty-four should have long grown out of.

The fact of the matter was that the guy was alone and hadn't spoken so much as a word. In reality, Jensen had no clue what he was thinking. For all he knew, the guy was just deciding what to salvage before tearing down the place.

Shaking out his shoulders, Jensen let his body glide back into the water almost soundlessly. It wasn't like there was anything interesting for him to see around here, he told himself as he left the bay and headed straight back to his father's palace.

\--

A couple of days later, he found himself at that same bay, that same beach again, but this time it was early morning, the kind of early where the moon and the sun were still sharing the same space.

The guy – Jared, but Jensen would only learn his name much later – was already there. He had obviously been busy since Jensen had last seen him, setting up a work bench on the plot of land right behind the house where he was sanding and cutting planks of wood with the same care Jensen had seen in him when Jared had examined the house. A stack of supplies – several boxes filled with who-knew-what, planks of wood and buckets of paint, from what Jensen could see – was sitting on the porch, shielded from the weather not only by the eaves, but by layers of thick plastic tarp. A small jolt of satisfaction went through Jensen when he realized that he had been right about one thing: the guy had seen more than just the house's flaws, had seen the potential in what Jensen was pretty sure landfolk called a fixer-upper.

Jensen took his position on the same rock as last time, settling in to watch while trying not to question why he was here again, what had made him come back. On the surface, there wasn't much to see. None of the hustle and bustle of the beaches Jensen usually visited, none of the quiet intimacy of some of the more isolated bays human couples seemed to prefer.

There was just Jared, working without hurry but not slacking either. He had a good, steady pace going, occasionally getting new wood or other supplies from his stack on the porch, the sides of his white shirt slowly darkening with dampness as the sun rose higher, just like Jensen had seen on joggers so many times. Now and then, Jared would use his left hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, his right hand never leaving the piece of wood he was working on. Theoretically, Jensen knew that humans sweat and why they did, nevertheless, the concept had always seemed strange to him. Yet suddenly, he had this urge to find out what it would feel like between the tips of his fingers; if it would be like touching the ocean while surrounded by air.

He sat there and watched for quite some time, half-lost in thoughts he didn't care to acknowledge, his eyes never leaving Jared, right until Jared put his sandpaper down after finishing another plank and then went inside.

Before Jensen could question the slight pang he felt, and before he could make himself hope that Jared would return soon – he hadn't put his materials away yet, after all – Jensen pushed himself off the rock, gliding into the comforting cool of the water.

\--

From then on, Jensen went back pretty much every day, watching Jared and the progress he made on the house. He didn't always stay long, and he didn't always catch Jared, but every day Jensen was there, he could see that something was different from last time, that the house was changing before his eyes.

Jared always seemed to work alone, never someone there to help him, to talk with him or touch him, to bring him something to drink – which Jensen knew humans needed, especially when they did physical work – or to wipe away the sweat from his forehead or play with the hairs that stuck to his neck.

One day, deep in the middle of the changing season, the sun rose high in the sky like it always did, but it grew stronger, too, making the earth and the sand and the water warmer than was usual for the time of year. Instead of using his hand to wipe off the sweat on his forehead, Jared surprised Jensen when he put down his hammer and stretched as he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Jared then proceeded to drag the fabric across his face and chest in an effort to dry himself off before bending down to pick up the water bottle that sat on the ground.

It wasn't like Jensen had never seen a human without a shirt before. During the long days of summer, there were a lot of people who wore a lot less to the beach than Jared did right now. Still, this was different somehow. Jared was lean and athletic. The hairs on his forearms were almost bronze, while there were a few stray ones on his chest that seemed darker. All of his musculature was defined, shifting with every step, every movement, from the tendons in his neck all the way down to his leg muscles, clearly visible even where they were covered by paint-stained khaki shorts. So strong and healthy Jensen couldn't help thinking that if Jared had a tail, it would have to be big, graceful and proud.

All of Jared's skin showed a light tan, but there was a change in color where the sleeves of his t-shirts usually ended. A _farmer's tan_ , Jensen thought to himself a little smugly. He'd bet a shark's tooth that even Kripke, who pretended to know everything about landfolk, didn't know that expression. Though that grumpy crab would probably sport something like it, too, if someone dared pulling him out of his shell. Jensen laughed and told himself to discuss this idea with Danneel some time; she was much better at weaving spells without getting caught.

While Jensen was still snickering at the mental picture of old Crustaceous without his bright red shell, the skin on Kripke's body pale as the moonlight, Jared went straight back to work. His full concentration was on the wood again as the muscles in his back were moving and flexing, glistening more and more with a new sheen of sweat the longer he worked. The sight had an almost mesmerizing effect on Jensen. Maybe it was that he had never paid close enough attention before, or maybe it was something about Jared specifically, but it was beautiful to see his muscles work, to catch the echo of the sun in the moisture on Jared's skin, almost like seeing its rays reflected on the scales of fish or on the inside of a shell lined with mother of pearl.

And Jensen felt that urge again, the need to touch, to know what the sweat on Jared's skin would feel like beneath his hands, what it would be like to really touch someone and mean it, to maybe have the touch returned.

A rush of thoughts and feelings washed over Jensen, different from the deep curiosity about landfolk he knew so well and unlike the distant longing he had gotten used to by now.

Jared shouldn't be working alone, Jensen thought, he shouldn't be alone. He shouldn't drink his evening beer alone like he did, shouldn't fire his grill up and eat what he had prepared all by himself. He should have someone to share it with, someone to help him and touch him. Someone Jared would look at with the same concentration and regard he seemed to only direct at his work.

The clarity of those thoughts scared Jensen, and the sheer intensity with which he was feeling their impact scared him, too.

This was all wrong.

Jensen was happy where he was. He had good friends and a loving family. He had a beautiful home, lots of hobbies and hardly any responsibilities. By Triton, he even had one of Nessie's offspring as a pet (although he usually left little Scotia with the palace's creature guards – for security reasons).

His grandma was probably right: what he really needed was something to give him a new routine, stability, something to occupy his mind during the day and give his life a purpose. _If you drive your tail into the sand, you will stop drifting,_ was what she always said.

Jensen jumped back into the sea. He didn't even care if he made a big splash.

\--

If Jensen had expected his father to be overjoyed that his youngest son wanted to get a job and officially start life as an adult – which Jensen absolutely had – he was in for a surprise.

His father was reluctant, to say the least. Apparently, he was quite happy with the way things were at the palace right now and thought that merpeople shouldn't really decide on their future before they turned eighty anyway. He also pointed out that Jensen's track record was more that of a notorious troublemaker than a responsible official of the court, which Jensen thought was really unfair, if completely accurate.

_Think about it, son, you're still so young. Even if you waited till your nineties, you'd still have over two centuries to work and be responsible. You should get all that sense of adventure and mischief out of your system, enjoy your youth while it lasts._

Once his father launched into a string of stories from the spring tide of his own life, Jensen had stopped even trying to argue with him.

Sometimes, being the youngest was just a ball of seaweed.

\--

Despite his father's less than enthusiastic response, Jensen managed to find other things to occupy him over the next week. He cleaned up his suite (without magic, so it would take longer), found a new hiding place for his seashell collection (right next to the Puerto Rico Trench, under a rock that looked like a gigantic baked potato, but _shhh, don't tell anyone_ ), and talked Danneel into helping him teach Scotia a few new tricks (who would have thought that she could spit fire even under water?).

It all helped and distracted him. And it made him realize that he hadn't spend much time with his friends, his family or even his pets lately. He had kind of missed them.

The problem was that he missed Jared, too.

\--

"Hey Jensen," Danneel said and splashed a small current of water at him with her tail. "You don't seem too happy lately."

"Yeah," he replied, a little more grumpily than intended, "because you keep throwing your little water whirls at me." _Soggy seaweed!_ , he was turning into old Crustaceous.

Danneel just laughed, bright and cheerful and right in his face, sending a stream of bubbles his way. "What," she asked, her eyes twinkling, "afraid you're gonna get wet?"

"So funny," Jensen deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"You know," she said, more quietly, "it's okay to want things others don't understand."

The tone in her voice soothed Jensen as much as her words scared him. He didn't even look her in the eyes, didn't dare to acknowledge that he knew what she was talking about.

"I like having you here more, I do. But sometimes, hiding from things instead of facing them only makes everything worse in the long run," she continued when he didn't say anything.

He just gave her a quick sideways look, not admitting anything, but not denying anything either, and she shrugged and threw him a fond smile. "Just had to get that off my chest." She winked at him. "No particular reason."

The smile on Danneel's face turned impish, and she used the full force of her tail to push a big underwater wave at him as she swam off.

\--

It took Jensen a few days to admit that Danneel might have been on to something. He probably just needed to stop focusing all his attention on one man, stop pretending that he could get to know someone just by observing them every day. He should go back to the way it used to be with him visiting different beaches, seeing different people and activities.

Jensen left his father's realm with his mind made up: he would go back to that beach one more time, say his goodbyes (quietly, of course, so Jared wouldn't notice him), and then get his daily dose of landfolk-watching somewhere else. All his regular beaches were still there, after all. Filled with families having barbecues and friends challenging each other to volleyball matches, with couples playing Frisbee or having romantic picnics, with joggers wheezing along the shoreline, with people with metal detectors looking for left-behind treasures or with teenagers on vacation taking their first bong hits. Yes, that was his plan. Just go and see one more time how much the house had changed, maybe watch Jared work a little before taking off for good.

When Jensen slid out of the water, he was feeling pretty good about everything. But then he saw something he hadn't expected: Jared wasn't alone.

 _But he never has company,_ Jensen thought defiantly. He was always working alone, feeling different from others of his kind, drawing in on himself because he was so unlike the people around him. Finding comfort and joy in the quiet time he spent working on the beach. _And yes, maybe Jensen had been projecting - just a little bit._

Jared certainly didn't seem alone or removed now.

The day was a little chilly, but he and a couple of people were out on the deck still, Jared manning the barbecue grill while the others – two men and three women, Jensen noticed with a small prick of displeasure – were sitting around a simple wooden table Jensen had never seen before. They were eating potato salad and french bread from paper plates and drinking beer from bottles.

"Hey, Jared," a tiny brunette hollered in the direction of the grill, "hurry up already, we're starving," but she did it with a laugh that betrayed her words.

"Easy, easy," the man sitting next to her said, his one hand raised in a placating gesture. "Let the man work."

"He's right, Gen," Jared said and pointed his oversized grilling fork at her. "No use rushing perfection."

"I don't want perfection, I want steak," she countered with a mock pout before stuffing a big forkful of potato salad in her mouth.

"You know I can't say _no_ to you," Jared said with a laugh, sending another prick of annoyance down Jensen's spine. Then Jared proceeded to proudly hold up a piece of meat Jensen was pretty sure looked delicious to someone who, you know, actually ate.

 _Oh food_ , Jensen thought longingly. He had always been so curious about eating, about chewing and swallowing and tasting anything other than the water in his mouth. When you had the magic of your merdust to sustain you, it made you wonder what it would be like to depend on food and drink to stay alive. Jensen had wondered about many other things, too: what it would feel like to be full or what alcohol would do to him or what this kind of friendship was like: where you were on land without fear of drying out your scales, laughing and cooking together, casually touching all the time.

Even Jared, whom Jensen had thought was so much like him, could have that, could be part of a group that had a good time with food and drink and constant pats on the back, playful slaps and accidental brushes of shoulders.

The familiar ache came back stronger than ever. Jensen wanted all that, he didn't just want to observe and watch anymore. He wanted to feel and experience and simply _be_ what he had longed for since he was just a little seaweed.

Danneel was right; hiding was not the answer. He had to face these strange desires head-on. And his father was right, too; if Jensen wanted to experiment, this was the time to do it. Even if it meant taking steps his father probably wouldn't have approved.

Which was how Jensen found himself fighting his way through a dark sea forest deep inside the Andreas Sound, where even the strongest light spell he knew let him see barely a tail-length ahead.

Maybe this hadn't been his brightest idea yet, but Jensen couldn't turn back now. He had to see this through.

When Jensen finally stood at the entrance of a house made of blackened shells and fishbone, he seriously began to doubt his sanity. What was he doing here? Whatever had made him think that going to see Ursula the sea witch for help wasn't the dumbest thing he had ever come up with?

Jensen was just about to turn around, head back and forget the whole stupid idea, when a pair of dark blue, larger-than-life eels opened the door, even though Jensen hadn't knocked.

They were clearly charmed not only to withstand the enormous increase in pressure around here (it had taken Jensen several hours in the palace library to find a spell strong enough to allow him to even come down here), but also to move upright like merpeople, even wearing a red-and-black uniform with brass buttons that had clearly seen better days.

They both gave him long, assessing looks that made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was, if that was possible. Finally, one of them started talking in a breathy voice that seemed threatening, especially with the way she lingered on the ends of words, drawing them out into a hiss. "You wish to see the sea witch."

Jensen was actually proud of himself for not stuttering when he replied, "Yes, I am."

"Follow us," the other eel hissed with a crooked, off-center smile.

\--

The sea witch simply laughed at him at first, her voluptuous, squid-like body shaking and her tentacles furling and unfurling with undisguised mirth. "What sordid little adventure have you planned, young prince?" Her shock of shortish white hair was standing up as if it shared the incredulity so clear on her face. "Why would anyone want to be human?" She opened her arms and raised her voice as if talking to a big audience, not just one merman. "They're sorry little creatures. Helpless and short-lived, with no magic. They can't swim like we do, can't sing and dance and make fish do their bidding like we do. They can't even breathe under water."

Jensen swallowed. He didn't want to give the sea witch any more information than absolutely necessary. He needed her help, true, but that didn't mean that he trusted her.

Jensen pulled himself together, making his voice calm. "What's it matter to you, as long as I'm willing to pay the price?"

That made her large, bright-red mouth pull into a predatory grin. "Aaaah, yes," she said, "the price."

He expected her to say more, but she didn't, waiting him out, until he finally threw a too-loud, impatient, "So, what is it?" at her.

"Oh," she said with a casual shrug, "nothing of too much value, really." She shot him a look, an ominous twinkle in the crude-oil blackness of her eyes. "Only a little merdust."

\--

Jensen swam up to the surface, still unable to believe he had agreed to her terms.

Of course he'd tried bargaining at first, had offered her each and every one of his possessions, along with a few things he would have had to smuggle out of the palace, but to no avail. Merdust she wanted and, in the end, merdust she got.

She had taken enough to cost him sixty years, seventy maybe. The spell she used to make it happen seeming to suck the energy out of him, leaving him weak and feeling older, but she assured him that that feeling would go away soon once his body had adapted to the sudden loss of so much magic.

"You're lucky it will be a new moon tonight," she had said, winking at him with a smile that was more knowing than he liked. "I will give you one full lunar cycle as a human being. Twenty-eight days, not one more."

She handed him a small white blade with a handle made of pearl. "Before dawn, you will swim up to the surface and sit down on the shore, your tail still covered by the ocean. When the sun rises, you will make a small cut between your scales and let a little bit of your blood mix with the water." Jensen tried not to shudder at the thought of slicing into his tail, but he had a feeling the witch knew the effect her words had on him anyway. "And then you will ask the sea to release you."

He swallowed.

"You will faint and once you wake up, you'll have a pair of those things – those _legs_." She drew the word out, her voice dripping with disgust, which, even in his agitated state, Jensen thought was a bit rich coming from someone with a bunch of squirmy tentacles. He decided to not point this out to her, though.

"What about my magic?" he asked, a sudden sense of dread and worry overcoming him. He couldn't just be human like that; with no home, no job, no money, none of these stupid car things and driver's licenses teenagers sometimes talked about faking so they could get into bars or buy cigarettes. People would call him a hobo – or worse, he had seen how cruel some could be – and he wouldn't even be able to buy beer or food or talk to people in a normal way. Talk to Jared. "Will I still have magic on land?"

The anxiety in his voice seemed to amuse Ursula, and she gave him an indulgent smile before she patted his arm in a gesture that was probably meant to be soothing, but really wasn't. "Yes, you will, but you should be very careful with it. Every time you weave a spell on land, it will cost you a lot more merdust than it does down here. Just like when you let one of them touch you." She looked at him coldly, her eyebrows raised into perfect rectangles. "And it will never come back, _never_."

The thought of losing even more merdust made his whole body tense, down to the last fin, but he couldn't go back now, so he simply said, "Okay. And how do I come back?"

"After twenty-eight days, on the evening of the next full moon, you will go to the shore again. It has to be the exact same spot and the exact day. You better write it down. Unless," she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial note, "you want a spell for that, too. I'll make you a good deal, I promise," she said, giving him an exaggerated wink.

Jensen shot her a look. He was pretty good at raising a disapproving eyebrow. "No thanks," he said curtly. "I think I'll manage."

"As you wish," she replied with a mock bow. "Where was I? Oh yes: you have to sit down the same way again, with your legs covered in water, and when the sun sets, you make a cut. Perhaps somewhere you won't mind having a scar on your tail later." Her smile this time could easily be described as lewd, and it made Jensen shudder.

"When your blood has mixed with the water, you ask the sea to take you back again and throw the knife into the ocean. Et voilà: your tail will grow back," she ended with a sweeping hand gesture, but then her face turned serious again. "If you don't ask the sea to take you back before the sun sets, you will not be able to come back." She moved uncomfortably close to him and almost whispered into his ear, "Not ever."

\--

And so here Jensen sits on the beach, the stars overhead and his head swirling like white water. He really should have thought this through more, should maybe even have tried to talk to Danneel instead of his usual "dive in first, ask questions later" approach because honestly, he has no idea what he's doing.

At least he left a note at his grandma's that he would be gone for a while and not to worry.

Jensen strokes over his scales one last time, his beautiful, proud fishtail he had always taken for granted. Then he nods to himself, determined.

\--

The strangest thing is breathing air. Jensen's not used to it, not used to having to breathe in and out and in and out, over and over, all day and night, unfailingly, never stopping. Pulling nothing into his lungs just to blow it back out again through his nose. But after a few snags – which feel like he's alternately choking or coughing to death – he gets the hang of it. The dry feeling in his mouth, his nostrils and his throat still takes some getting used to, though.

At first, Jensen decides to use his magic sparingly, only making himself some clothes that fit in with the style of the season (because they're perfect copies of what he saw on a billboard advertisement for The Gap), a credit card, ID and some cash, but when he's walking around town, he soon realizes that that won't be enough. He wants to meet people, wants to meet Jared. He wants to be his friend, experience what he has only observed until now, but with merely the bare necessities of passing as a regular human, he just can't seem to work up the nerve to even go back to the bay and find Jared. 

No, if he wants this to be everything it can be, Jensen has to go all out.

So he weaves spell after spell, giving himself a human history and what humans call a degree. He has to talk to some people first, do some research so he even knows what exactly his spells are supposed to do, but he manages. 

Three days in, Jensen has a history. He's from Richardson, Texas, a place with no sea borders (it's probably a good idea to hide his tracks a little) and has a degree in physio therapy (with skills to match). He also has something called a bank account, and has rented the house two doors down from Jared's. 

When he finally goes over to introduce himself as the new neighbor, Jensen's so nervous that he almost can't speak.

What was he thinking? He's not human; even if he knows what they are like on the surface, he doesn't really _know_. Doesn't know about their ways, about their feelings, about their inner lives. He has used up way too much magic already on this stupid chimera, and he will have to suffer the consequences of every further spell, every further touch when he goes back home.

But when Jared opens the door and smiles at him, Jensen feels his nerves settle. He stretches out his hand, finally about to touch someone and mean it, and somehow, he's glad it's Jared. 

Jared's hand is nice and solid as it wraps around Jensen's, and the pressure feels delicious, making his skin warm instantly where they touch. It's not this big, overwhelming sensation Jensen had thought it might be, but it feels good.

"Nice to meet you …" Jared says, and it takes Jensen a moment too long to realize that the pause at the end of the sentence is meant to prompt him into supplying his name.

"Jensen," he replies, because that's the name that appeared on the driver's license he had made out of thin air. (In case you're wondering: Jensen's real name cannot be pronounced on land. In fact, the higher tones in it are inaudible to the human ear.) Saying it out loud for the first time, it feels good, too, like it fits. "Jensen Ackles." He smiles.

"Jensen?" Jared says. "That's different." Jensen's smile dims a little, but Jared seems to notice right away. "I mean that in a good way," he hurries to add. "I like it. Different's good."

He shrugs apologetically. "And hey, my name is Jared _Padalecki_ , so even if your name were weird," the look on Jared's face and red color rising from his neck tell Jensen that Jared instantly regrets using that word, "– which it isn't, it totally isn't – I'd have no room to judge." He covers one half of his face with his hand.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry. You must think I'm a complete moron. My mouth runs off and away from me sometimes." Jared shrugs again, and Jensen couldn't fight the smile if he wanted to.

"How about we do this again?" Jared says and extends his hand. "Hi, I'm Jared Padalecki. Welcome to the neighborhood, which," he casts a look towards the other houses, "is basically just you and me this time of year."

"Hi," Jensen replies, taking the offered hand and shaking it for the second time, enjoying the dry, sure pressure. "I'm Jensen Ackles, and apparently, I have a weird name."

To his surprise, Jared breaks into a big, loud laugh and gives Jensen a friendly pat on his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping right through the material of Jensen's shirt. "I like you already," Jared says, his grin wide.

\--

After he goes home, Jensen's not quite sure what else he should do to pursue his goal of winning Jared's friendship, but fortunately, Jared takes care of that problem when he knocks on Jensen's door the next day.

"Hey," he says, smiling at Jensen, but then drawing his eyes away to look at his feet. "I'm having a couple of people over for a barbecue tonight. Just trying to make the most of that warm weather we've been having lately. And I thought, since you're new around here, and if you're free, that maybe you would like to swing by later."

He looks back up at Jensen and quickly adds, "Only if you want to, of course. No pressure." The red flush Jensen saw yesterday is back, working its way up into Jared's cheeks. It makes Jensen want to know what Jared's skin there feels like, but he curbs the impulse to reach out and touch.

"I'd love to," he says instead, realizing belatedly that his answer is more formal than the way he usually hears guys talking to each other, so he adds an, "I'm always game for free food."

Judging from Jared's bright smile, Jensen's not doing too badly.

\--

It's not like Jensen hasn't eaten anything since the sea witch turned him human. No, this body made it perfectly clear from the start that it wouldn't function without food or drink for long. 

But when Jensen first tried to find food in one of those big, huge supermarkets, he was so overwhelmed by all the choices that he wove a small spell and cast it on a nice lady he had spotted in one of the aisles, and who reminded him of his grandmother a little. He then asked her what she would feed someone who had never eaten anything in his life before. And as per her advice, he'd gotten a variety of baby foods.

It's not all bad – and Jensen knows that it's different from grown-up food, of course, which he hasn't really dared try yet – but it's mushy and bland and really not all it's cracked up to be.

But now he's invited to a barbecue. With Jared. He doesn't want to make a fool of himself like the first time he tried to swallow something (a spoonful of butternut squash purée from a small glass jar, he would always remember that) and accidentally cut off his air supply. He's still grateful he made it out of that situation alive. Seriously, how did all those little humans do it?

So half an hour later, Jensen's heading into town, looking for a place that sells barbecue to go.

\--

"By Triton," Jensen almost shouts once he swallows his first bite of Jared's homemade pulled pork. "I mean: Oh God," he corrects himself, trying not to show how mortified he is by his slip, "that is so much better than at Chad and Sophie's BBQ Den."

Katie, one of the blonde girls he had seen last time, snorts and says incredulously, "You actually ate at that dive? I hope you washed your hands after," but Jared smiles at him, clearly pleased.

Still, Jensen's a little flustered. "I," he stammers, "I haven't really had barbecue before, so I thought I'd try it out before I came here." He bites his lip. Did he really just say that? It must have sounded so weird. What must Jared think - what do his friends think - of someone who hasn't even had barbecue before? 

Up until that point, Jensen had thought things were going pretty well. Jared's friends – Gen, Katie, Rob and Aldis from last time, plus a new guy called Misha – were friendly from the start, and Jared continually made sure to include Jensen in their conversation, always shooting him a smile or brushing against him when he was stretching to fetch a bottle of beer or a new napkin to clean up something he had just spilled. Jensen had noticed pretty soon that Jared made more of a mess than the others, and it actually had a soothing effect on Jensen, making him less self-conscious. Yet it was a little exhausting to keep up with their talk and easy banter, and it made Jensen realize how big the difference was between observing something and really understanding it from the inside out.

He prepares himself for a remark on what a weird guy he is (and okay, so maybe Jensen's brain also comes up with a quick worst-case scenario in which they call him out on being a merman and throw him back into the ocean, though he objectively knows that this is not going to happen), but instead Katie, who he thought was most likely to make said remark, looks at him gleefully. "Oh my God, you were a vegetarian before?" she shrieks. "But you couldn't escape the lure of the meat any longer." Her laugh is bright and slightly startling. "That's amazing."

Throwing her arm around Jensen's shoulder, she turns him around a little, so he's directly facing Misha. "Look at this guy, Misha. There's hope for you yet." She giggles. "Just accept the error of your ways and deny the power of tofu."

Misha just rolls his eyes. "I can't even believe you sometimes, Cassidy." He gives Jensen a mock solemn look and says in a somber voice (also mocking, Jensen's pretty sure), "And if you ever need help in finding your way back to the true faith, just let me know. I'm here to help."

Jensen's not entirely sure what's going on here – he knows what a vegetarian is, but this is all a bit much for him right now – but the grin on his face feels strangely real. He somehow likes these people around him and enjoys their company, even when they say things that don't completely make sense.

Then, there is Jared's hand on his arm again, the same reassuring warmth he felt when they shook hands – twice, Jensen remembers fondly – last time. "Don't mind them," he says. "Gen and Katie have this bet going that one of them will get Misha to try meat some day. And Katie's too competitive for her own good."

"Hey," Katie objects good-naturedly, her arm still hanging loosely around Jensen's neck, "when you were on my bowling team the last time, you were singing a different tune, buddy." 

Her touch doesn't feel quite as good as Jared's, but it's still nice to have the weight of someone else's arm on him, to know that being touched means being liked, accepted, and it makes Jensen feel a sense of connection. He returns Katie's smile and then takes another forkful of that delicious pulled pork.

\--

Several hours later, long after their group moved inside from the deck to spread out on the two huge sofas that take up most of Jared's living room, Jensen is surprised to find that he's the only guest left. He's familiar enough with landfolk etiquette (which doesn't differ that much from merfolk etiquette in this respect) to know that he should probably excuse himself at this point, but he's simply too comfy on Jared's overstuffed couch. The beer he consumed no doubt also contributes to his relaxed, slightly drowsy state. He didn't even drink half of what Jared did, yet he's pretty sure it affects him a lot more. Somehow, that doesn't seem fair to Jensen, and he feels his mouth pull into a pout. Then again, it's the first time he's had alcohol in his life, so maybe the way he's feeling shouldn't come as a surprise.

Jared is sitting next to him, not really close enough to touch, but their knees keep bumping together occasionally, and Jensen lets Jared's voice wash over him as he keeps telling stories about Texas, where he grew up, and Seattle, where he went to college. Jared is a great storyteller, funny and enthusiastic, with his hands always involved – which inevitably leads to him spilling drops of beer every once in a while.

The truth is that Jensen doesn't get quite a bit of what Jared is telling him. As it turns out, even Crustaceous _Know-it-all_ Kripke's lessons combined with decades of observing humans couldn't teach Jensen everything there was to know about people. But when he's with Jared, it doesn't bother Jensen. He's not even worried anymore that he might come across as weird because Jared is always goofing off and making fun of himself and it puts Jensen more and more at ease.

He takes a deep, contented breath that somehow transforms into a big yawn on its way out.

"Oh my God." Jared looks mortified. "I'm sorry I keep talking about myself, I didn't mean to bore you." He runs his hand through his hair and ducks his head a little, the ease and relaxation in his posture from moments ago replaced by a bit of tension. 

Jensen just wants to take that tension away again, and something makes him reach out and pat Jared's thigh. "No worries," he says, his tongue weirdly stiff in his own mouth. "I like your stories." He grins at Jared a little sloppily, and Jared grins right back. After a while, Jared's eyes travel down to Jensen's hand still on Jared's leg, and Jensen realizes that he just drew that moment out for a really long time. 

"And I think I might be drunk," Jensen says, still contemplating his hand on Jared before finally moving it away – even though he doesn't really want to. He distantly wonders if touches through clothing take his merdust away, too, or if it's just skin-on-skin contact. That sea witch really didn't give him a lot of details.

"Yeah," Jared says, smiling, "you might be." He gets up and offers Jensen his hand, pulling him up with little effort, though Jensen feels heavy as a barrel of kelp. "You good to go home or should I walk you?"

"I'm good," Jensen replies, although he would like it a lot if Jared walked him home. "Thanks for having me."

"Any time," Jared says as he sees Jensen to the door.

\--

They spend a lot of time together after that. 

First, Jared makes good on his promise to show Jensen around (since Jensen's new and Jared insists that it's only neighborly), introducing him to the sedate little seaside town, which, according to Jared, is not quite as dull outside the off-season. 

They try some of the local restaurants and the amazing café Aldis works in, which makes Jensen regret every single jar of baby food he ate during his first days as a human. Thankfully, Jared isn't really a seafood kind of guy, so Jensen doesn't have to make up excuses about why he doesn't want to eat anything with scales – or a shell, for that matter. _Poor Kripke._

On the first weekend, Jared drives them a few towns over in an old, but well-maintained Honda Civic that seems much too small to accommodate all of his long limbs. They wind up playing something called miniature golf, which doesn't go so well for Jensen – or the Chinese lantern he manages to tear apart with an especially forceful ball. 

The next day, Jared invites him along to his friends' weekly game of bowling anyway, which Jensen sees as a good sign. When Jensen tells the gang that he's never bowled in his life, they can hardly believe it. Genevieve even thinks out loud about revoking his citizenship, which hits a little closer to home than Jensen would like.

But then he surprises them – and, most of all, himself – by being really, really good at bowling. Turns out the sense of balance and focus you need for navigating through water currents all your life really comes in handy when throwing a bowling ball.

Everyone seems to think that he _punked_ them (Katie's word), and Rob calls him a "dirty old liar", which sounds like a compliment from him, somehow. Afterwards, Jared invites Jensen over for a shot of tequila "in honor of your first, and wildly successful, game of bowling," and even if Jared maybe doesn't fully believe Jensen either, when they end up sharing half a bottle – complete with a weird ritual that includes salt, lemon slices and licking your own hand – Jensen really doesn't mind.

\--

There's more and more touching, too.

Jensen noticed early on that Jared's a tactile guy, hugging his friends both in greeting and goodbye, always quick with a pat on the back or a hand playfully messing up the other person's hairdo, so Jensen tries not to read too much into it. 

After a while, though, Jensen is sure that it's different between them, that the touches Jared bestows upon him tend to linger, that a pat on the back often morphs into an arm around Jensen's shoulder and that Jared reaching for the bowl of chips on the end table next to Jensen turns into them sitting much closer, their sides touching.

The realization that really catches Jensen by surprise, though, is that he does the same thing. 

Yes, he likes touching, likes the physical sensation and how it feels like he's sharing something with the other person, but with Jared's friends, who, after meeting them a couple of times in the last two weeks, he starts to consider his own friends, too, Jensen's content to let go after the quick connection of the initial touch. With Jared, though, Jensen always seems to want more, like it's never enough, even when it makes him feel so at ease, so happy.

It's not just the touches, either. It's the intense looks and bright smiles. The boisterous laughs and quietly told stories. It's how Jared tells him about the house one night. That he bought it from the small inheritance his grandmother left him, and how he took some time off and started fixing it up all by himself, remembering her and how much she had loved scouring yard sales and flea markets for old pieces of furniture to restore, those full of history and flaws.

It's also Jared's scent. The way he smells different when he's been running or working all day or after they share some Indian take-out. The fresh scent when Jensen catches him right after he took a shower one day, hair still damp and curling at the nape of his neck, droplets of water tickling Jensen's nose as he returns Jared's hug.

It all keeps him coming back for more, makes him not care if he might be coming on too strong, just wanting to make the most of the time he has left here, has left with Jared. 

\--

"You know what's weird?" Jared asks him one night, his fingers playing idly with a piece of thread that's coming out of the couch cushion behind Jensen's shoulder.

"No, what?"

"I _feel_ like I know you, but when I stop and think about it, I realize that I've done most of the talking when we," he makes a slow, swirly hand gesture, "you know, talk."

"That's because you're much better at telling stories," Jensen says fondly. Even if it's not the entire reason Jensen's not shared nearly as much about himself with Jared as Jared did in return, it's still true.

"I'm serious, though," Jared says, his face earnest now. "I like you, Jensen. I like you a lot." 

Suddenly, Jared's face is much closer and his one palm comes up to gently press against Jensen's throat, slowly stroking upward until he's holding Jensen's jaw, tilting his face. 

Instinctively, Jensen licks his lips. He knows what this is, he's seen it with all those couples that came down to the beach for a romantic stroll, but suddenly, he feels like he doesn't know anything, almost helpless in his anticipation. 

Jared's mouth is so close, his breath damp against Jensen's lips, his hand on Jensen's face gentle, and it makes the hairs on Jensen's body stand up, makes a hot-and-cold tingling sensation run down his back.

"Is this okay?" Jared murmurs, and Jensen swallows and nods. 

"Yeah," he says lowly, surprised by the smoke in his voice.

And then Jared's lips slide against Jensen's for the first time, soft and slightly moist and so good Jensen soon begins to reciprocate, to move not just his lips but his whole body to make them fit better, touch more. 

Soon, Jared slips his tongue out, licking at the seam of Jensen's mouth until he lets him in. It's so different from anything Jensen's ever done. It's wet and warm and intimate in a way he never imagined. It's not just touching, it's letting Jared in and being let in by him in turn.

Jensen's so caught up in _doing_ , not watching or thinking or second-guessing, that he doesn't even realize he's straddled Jared's thighs until his hips begin rolling instinctively, making Jensen aware of the effect Jared is having on all of him, everything, his entire body. Making Jensen aware of the effect _he_ is having on Jared. 

It's exhilarating and it makes Jensen happy and reckless at the same time. When Jensen feels Jared's hands slipping under his shirt, sure fingers pressing into the flesh of Jensen's waist, encouraging the circular motion of Jensen's hips, Jensen knows that he wants everything, wants it all, doesn't care about wasting even more of his merdust. 

Without fanfare, Jensen pulls Jared's shirt and undershirt over his head and goes for Jared's fly. 

Jared is right there with him, pawing and pulling at Jensen's clothes, just as eager to get them skin-on-skin. 

When Jared's finally naked beneath him, Jensen takes a moment to simply look, commit the moment to memory. Jared is gorgeous. His tan deep and his muscles defined, chest heaving as he looks at Jensen with hungry eyes. There's sweat gathering along Jared's neck and hair line, and Jensen has a fleeting memory of how he wanted to know what Jared's sweat would feel like under his hands. What he wants now, though, is to taste it, to taste Jared. So he does.

The first thing Jensen notices is the stubble of Jared's beard against his tongue. Right after, though, a tangy saltiness takes over his senses, making Jensen's hips push hard into Jared's as he realizes that Jared tastes spicy and sharp and unique, and yet like home, too. Jensen can't get enough of it.

He starts licking and biting and sucking at Jared's skin, giving himself over to the sensations and the need and the intensity of the moment. The sounds Jared's making, the way his hands stroke and knead and seem to be everywhere on Jensen's body at once urge Jensen on, make him move and taste and forget everything else.

When Jared's hands close firmly around Jensen's waist, pulling Jensen into the punching motions of Jared's hips, increasing the friction, everything tips and tumbles and topples over.

Jensen hears a loud, guttural sound coming out of his own throat, and soon Jared makes a similar noise. There's warm wetness spreading between them, and Jensen feels himself grow boneless against Jared's body, a deep sense of relaxation coming over him.

When he rolls off of Jared and is being held close, Jensen can't even bring himself to open his eyes, but simply smiles into the musky warmth of Jared's chest.

\--

The next day, Jensen wakes up slowly, his eyes still closed as he rolls his shoulders and stretches out his arms. In spite of sleeping in a less-than-ideal position on Jared's couch, Jensen feels good, relaxed – happy. 

When he opens his eyes, he doesn't really expect Jared to be there. He knows that Jared goes out for a long jog first thing every morning, while Jensen definitely prefers sleeping in.

Jensen blinks the sleep out of his eyes and the smile on his face widens when he sees a folded piece of paper on the coffee table with his name on it in Jared's handwriting. Jared left him a note, he thinks a little stupidly. After last night, he thinks he's allowed a little stupidness. Stupidity? Whatever.

He opens the note and starts reading, and his face slowly crumbles.

_Jensen,_

_I'm sorry to do this, but I'll take off for a few days. Just let yourself out.  
I really am sorry._

_Jared_

 

It takes him a while to really take in what just happened, how one of the best experiences of his life could turn around so completely in an instant. How Jared let him down. 

Led him on with his stupid touches and his stupid words and his stupid smile and his stupid stories.

Jensen is such a fool.

Before he knows it, Jensen feels his eyes scrunch up and there's a tightness in his throat, like the first time he ate landfolk food and almost suffocated. His cheeks feel strangely hot, but at the same time there's a cool sensation trailing down his skin. Finally, it reaches his mouth and Jensen opens his lips slightly, lets it in. It's wet and a little tangy, and almost like the sea, almost like Jared.

Jensen's seen people cry before, when he was just watching. Right now, he wants to go back to that. He doesn't want to feel this way.

He covers his face with his palms and fingers, pressing the salty water into his mouth with the heels of his hands, feeling the air from his nose shudder over his skin, making strange, wet noises as his body starts shaking.

When it stops, there's a sandy feeling in his eyes, and all Jensen wants to do is sleep.

\--

Jensen stays in bed all day, even though he's mostly awake. He's exhausted and lethargic and so sick of this whole thing all of a sudden. All the time he spent with Jared, all the merdust he used for this … this charade. It's such a waste.

Wanting to be human, if only for a limited time – what the hell had he been thinking?

And now Jensen has about a week left in this stupid body with its stupid legs. This thing that's not quite home in the water, yet burns in the sun. 

If only he could turn back time and erase this whole ordeal – or at least go home right now and not have to deal with all this any longer. But the sea witch gave him exactly one lunar month, no option for leaving a week early.

There's a new text from Katie on Jensen's phone, but he doesn't want to read it. Instead, he sets the ringer on mute.

\--

The next day, Jensen decides to go out on the beach and away from his house – and Jared's – by following the shoreline. 

There's no spring in his step, and he stops to stare listlessly into the depth of the sea more than once.

He's just begun skipping stones across the ocean surface when a head of bright red hair parts the water before him. "Hey," Danneel shouts at him, "you almost hit me in the head."

For a moment, Jensen's dumbfounded.

"How did you find me?" he asks, feeling heavy and numb, longing for the way Danneel's body so effortlessly moves in the water.

She grins up at him. "I went to the sea witch and after some," she pauses, clearly for effect, " _negotiating_ , she told me about your deal and where you were."

"Negotiating?" he asks, his lethargy and self-pity giving way to dread. "Danneel, you didn't give her some of your merdust for me, did you?"

"No," she says, shaking her head and making drops of water fly from her thick red curls. "I just threatened to tell your dad. That time he took away her fishtail really made an impression, you know."

Jensen laughs sharply with relief. "Thank Triton," he says, appreciating the pun (even if, technically speaking, his dad is only Troilus Triton Tiberius the Third, and not the mythical Triton more pious merpeople worship).

Through his own, relieved sigh, he almost misses Danneel mutter, "Though I totally would have, you musselhead."

\--

That evening, Jensen sits down at the shore a long time before sunset. The ocean water gently splashes across his human legs, the sensation so different from it rolling off of his scales. 

He has Ursula's knife in one hand and an ointment Danneel gave him in the other. According to the sea witch, all he has to do is dip the blade into the ointment before he performs the ritual, and the sea will take him back at sunset on any day, not just on a full moon night.

When Danneel had told him, he'd been so grateful, hardly patient enough to wait the hours until dusk, but as the moment draws closer, he suddenly isn't so sure anymore.

Yes, he misses home, and part of him just wants to go back and hide out with his grandma. And he misses Danneel, the best friend he could hope for, brave (and insane) enough to threaten the sea witch when she thought Jensen was in trouble. He misses his brothers and sisters, too, even if he hardly ever sees them since they all got full-time palace jobs. He misses Scotia, and his sea shell collection and the algae forest his mother took him to when he was little. He even misses old Kripke, that elitist little crab.

But the more Jensen calms down, the more he realizes that there are so many things he would miss about being here, too.

Yes, what Jared did hurts, hurts to even think about, and right now it seems to taint everything else since most of what Jensen's done here on land is so closely tied to Jared. Slowly Jensen realizes, though, that what he experienced, what he felt, is about more than just Jared.

It's about Katie ruffling his hair and Rob calling him names. It's about laughing at Misha's fashion choices and almost melting because those chocolate waffles with berries and extra cream Aldis made for him taste so good. It's about learning how to bowl and play miniature golf and eat eggs and bacon without choking to death.

It's about belonging to a group, and still feeling like he could go anywhere if he wanted, that there were so many options for him to pursue. Not just living out loud through his rebellious years before taking a cushy job at his father's palace.

As all these thoughts begin to settle inside Jensen's head, he realizes that this isn't just about seeing his deal through to the end. This is about staying for good. Even if it means leaving some of the most important things, the most important _people_ , behind.

With a drawn-out sigh, Jensen gets up and throws the knife and ointment into the sea.

"I'll miss you all," he says to the calm water.

\--

The next day, Jensen meets Katie for coffee, and they both seem careful to avoid the topic of Jared. In spite of the slight awkwardness, Jensen finds that it's a lot better than sitting home alone, and when she hugs him goodbye, he lingers in her arms for a moment.

After that, Jensen weaves a spell to help him find a job. If he's serious about staying, he'd better find out what to do with the rest of his life. Being human means that he has only fifty years left or so. He really has to get a move on.

\--

When there's a knock on his door on the last day of the lunar cycle, Jensen doesn't expect it to be Jared, but it is. 

His first impulse is to shut the door in Jared's face, but the look Jared gives him makes Jensen reconsider. No matter how this is going to go, Jensen thinks, he at least deserves to know what happened.

\--

A short while later, he and Jared are walking along the beach, not talking, not touching – not even accidentally.

When they come to a large piece of driftwood, Jared finally stops moving and waits for Jensen to stop, too.

"I run away," Jared says, head tilted and a curious quirk to his mouth. "It's what I do." His hand runs through his hair, and he's not looking Jensen in the eye. "When I didn't want to follow in my parents' footsteps, I didn't tell them I had applied for college across the country. I just packed up my truck and left after graduation." 

He rolls his lips inside his mouth, Adam's apple working as he presses them into an almost invisible line, and Jensen's not even sure Jared will go on talking. When he does, his mouth is red from the pressure, but looks dry. "When I messed up my knee and they were about to pull my athletic scholarship, I didn't even try to talk to my counselor, I just left. And when my marriage fell apart," Jared takes in a sharp breath, "I didn't say goodbye to her. I just moved out while she was on a business trip and sent her the divorce papers through the mail."

Jared's hand comes up to cover his mouth and chin, almost like he's trying to keep the words in. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm a coward."

There's a visible swallow. "And I'm sorry I hurt you. But the truth is that with you, everything seemed just so damn easy." He smiles at an unspecified memory. "Hell, we've only known each other for a couple of weeks, and I already told you things I didn't even tell Gen, who's my best friend. It scared me. And the real zinger is that I didn't even _want_ to run this time." Jared's shoulders shake with something that looks almost like a laugh. "I just felt like I had to. Flight instinct or something."

For the first time this evening, Jared tries to catch Jensen's eye. "But I want to work on that. Make it up to you, if you'll let me." He smiles tentatively. "I want to be better, Jensen." Jared's teeth bite into his lower lip. "You make me be better."

It doesn't solve everything or make everything right, but it's still one of the best things Jensen's ever heard.

"Come on," he says, "let's head into town, and I'll buy you a beer."

The smile on Jared's face is so honestly and profoundly relieved that it makes Jensen feel better, too.

They walk along the beach without talking, and Jensen silently weaves a last spell to say goodbye to his friends and family. Soon after, he feels a wave of love and concern coming back to him in reply. And if he didn't know better, he'd say that he can feel the echo of his grandmother's lips on his forehead.

The sky is mostly dark already, the sun no more than a sliver of burning gold grazing far-away waves, and Jensen feels the back of Jared's hand brush his as they take a turn together. 

Without conscious thought, Jensen lets his hand slide into Jared's palm and feels what might be the last of his merdust melt from his human skin. 

Jensen catches Jared's gaze and smiles. He doesn't need it anymore.


End file.
